Damaged Goods
by ibelieveinguardianangels
Summary: Becoming trapped in an elevator leads a panicked John to opening up to Sherlock. (Not Johnlock).


**I know this idea has been overdone, sort of, but I read a few 'elevator' fictions and decided to try my hand at my own. My recent fictions have been focused mainly around Sherlock; I decided to switch it up a bit and focus this one around John. **

**Sorry about any mistakes. **

Damaged Goods

"John," Sherlock reached out, pulling his doctor's hands away from the elevator doors where he was frantically trying to pry them open, "John, stop." Sherlock stepped in front of his friend, blocking his access to the doorway, trying to prevent him from causing himself harm. "John, its okay." The detective attempted to soothe his friend.

"No, it's not!" John exclaimed, fighting to push the detective out of the way, "We're trapped, Sherlock!"

"Stop. Stop!" Sherlock grabbed his friend's arms, holding them down to his sides, "Look at me." Sherlock waited until John met his gaze, "We're going to be okay." Sherlock tried to assure him, "People know that we are in here, they watched us enter and they'll be trying to get the lift going again." Sherlock noticed his friend's trembling hands. "Just relax, John, its okay."

"Sherlock, you don't understand," Doctor John Watson gushed, "I can't-I can't be trapped."

"You're not on your own," Sherlock's voice was soft as he attempted to calm his friend, "I'm here. Lets sit down," he gestured to the back of the lift, "over there, and lets just relax. Its only a matter of time before we're freed, so calm down."

"You don't understand, Sherlock, you-" John's breathing was rapid, his hands shaking.

"You're frightened, quite clearly by something in your past," Sherlock explained, "and I can only assume that its linked to your PTSD so I know that this must be very hard for you. Now," Sherlock slid down the back of the elevator and into a sitting position on the flooring, untying his scarf so he didn't overheat "sit down with me and relax." Sherlock watched as his trembling friend clumsily dropped to the floor beside him. "Why did you throw away my experiment?" Sherlock questioned, seemingly out of the blue.

"W-what?" John asked, looking at the detective like he'd sprouted an extra head.

"You heard." Sherlock stated, his eyebrow scrunching slightly as he did so. "My experiment - why did you throw it away? It only had a few more hours and it would have been completed. Why did you throw it away?"

"It-it was unsanitary." John stammered.

"Why?" Sherlock questioned, trying to distract his friend from the situation at hand.

"What you were doing was-was unsanitary and it wasn't safe to have it out in the open like that, particularly not near food." John explained.

"Good, and?" Sherlock questioned, trying to keep his friend's attention on the conversation.

"You shouldn't have been doing it in the first place. It was unethical to take those eyeballs from that body, Sherlock." John stated, trying to regulate his breathing.

"True." Sherlock nodded, "But they're dead," he stated simply, why would it bother them?"

"It would bother their family, Sherlock." John groaned, leaning his head against the cold wall of the lift.

"What's to say that their family would have found out? Some families chose not to look in the coffin of their loved ones, this could have been one of those families." Sherlock argued, "Besides, eyes are closed in a coffin, they wouldn't have noticed."

The dim lighting above he pair flickered, the low humming that the lift was emitting halted and suddenly the pair were plunged into darkness; John whimpered, a pitiful whine of "Sherlock" escaping his lips as he grasped blindly for the detective.

"It's okay." Sherlock's voice was soft as he fumbled in his pockets, pulling out his BlackBerry and illuminating the lift with the back-light moments later.

"Oh God," John groaned, banging his head against the lift momentarily before gasping "I have to get out of here." Sherlock reached out as he moved to stand, holding him to the floor gently.

"Stay sat there, John, we're going to be fine, don't worry." John saw a smile grace Sherlock's lips momentarily, a soft, reassuring smile, "They'll get us out and nothing bad will happen. We're only a few streets away from home, so once they've freed us, we can go back to Baker Street," Sherlock met John's gaze, "and we can drink tea and watch some TV. Just try and settle down."

"Sherlock." John groaned.

"Relax, John." Sherlock responded, his voice gentle, "You've got nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. I'm here so you're not on your own."

"I know it's ridiculous." John stated, causing Sherlock's eyebrows to furrow in confusion.

"I didn't-" Sherlock began to plead his innocence, only to be interrupted by John.

"I know what you're thinking." John stated, "There's no need for me to be like this. I _know _that, Sherlock." Sherlock watched his doctor, concern in his eyes. "I know that we're perfectly safe and that we'll be freed at any moment but that _doesn't_ make it _any easier_." John's breathing had sped up again; he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. "And you _don't understand_ because you _weren't there_!"

"John," Sherlock began, John's desperate cry cutting him off.

"No! You don't understand!" John exclaimed, "You weren't there. You weren't there! You-you weren't there." John's voice had become weaker, his torso rocking slightly, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms around his knees; a single tear rolled down the man's flushed cheek.

"Sit closer." Sherlock ordered softly.

"What?" John questioned, rubbing a hand down his cheeks to try and rid them of the tears that betrayed him.

"I am aware that physical contact speaks louder than words in these situations." Sherlock explained, "Sit closer. I've never done this before," Sherlock's voice sounded oddly quiet as the doctor scooted closer to his flatmate, "so if I'm making it worse or doing something wrong, do tell me." Sherlock reached out as the doctor's side leant against his, wrapping his arms around him.

"I have to get out of here, Sherlock," John whimpered, "I can't-I can't breathe."

"I can feel your heart beating." Sherlock mumbled, feeling the pounding under his right forearm.

"Good." John nodded, seemingly taking comfort in that fact, "That-that means I'm alive, Sherlock."

"What happened?" Sherlock questioned, sounding rather intrigued.

"What-what do you mean?" John stammered.

"What happened that scared you so much?" Sherlock elaborated and could almost hear John's eyes roll.

"Not now, Sherlock." John shook his head at Sherlock's bad timing, "Not here. I can't breathe."

"You're crying, and you're talking so you're breathing." Sherlock observed, "Now, stop talking, stop crying and focus on the breathing. You're a doctor, surely you know how to help someone who's having a panic attack. Just do what you would advise them to do and, if you need my help, just say so."

John edged a little closer to the detective, unconsciously laying his head of sandy brown hair against his light blue shirt, focusing on the rhythmic _thump-thump, thump-thump_ of his heartbeat and trying to get his to beat in time.

"I hope they hurry up and get us out of here." John whispered, "Sherlock, please, make them hurry up." John's tone was so desperate Sherlock felt an odd sensation in his chest, as though something was squeezing his heart.

"They'll be going as fast as they can, don't worry." Sherlock assured him.

"What if they don't know we've stopped?"

"They will do, John." Sherlock unconsciously tightened his grip on the man, "Just calm down." The detective watched as his friend's eyes drifted closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically again; Sherlock let his phone darken its screen.

"Three and a half hours?!" Sherlock exclaimed once he reached Lestrade, "It took you three and a half hours to let us out of that elevator and poor John was panicking pretty much the entire time!" Sherlock glanced over at the doctor who was sitting on a bench close to the doorways, his eyes red and watery, his hands shaking; an orange blanket rested on his shoulders. "I'm just thankful that his body's intuition caused him to fall asleep or God knows what kind of state he'd be in right now." Sherlock hissed.

"This wasn't our fault, Sherlock, surely you understand that." Greg Lestrade tried to reason with the detective, "We did all we could to get the pair of you out but it proved more difficult than it should have been."

"Solve the case yourself, Lestrade," Sherlock spat, "because I'm taking John home where he needs to be right now." Sherlock turned on his heel and strode away from the Detective Inspector and over to where his friend was sitting. "John?" The man looked up, "Are you ready to go?"

"Go?" John questioned, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, "Go where?"

"Home." Sherlock stated, "You need to go somewhere that you feel safe."

"You don't have to come, Sherlock," John began to protest, "You have the case-"

"You're in no fit state to be alone." Sherlock interjected, "You're still trembling."

"Mrs. Hudson will be there." John argued.

"John." Sherlock warned.

"Are you sure about missing the case?"

"Other cases will come up." Sherlock shrugged, "Meanwhile, I left an experiment in the fridge."

"Sherlock," John groaned, watching the detective smile at him.

"John?" Sherlock called through to the front room from the kitchen, "Have you seen my thumbs?" Sherlock backtracked a moment, realising how strange that question would have sounded, "I mean the ones I left in the fridge?" At getting no answer, Sherlock turned, heading to where his friend was sitting in the front room, staring towards the window, "John?"

"Hmm?" John looked up, "What?"

"I said, have you seen the thumbs I left in the fridge?" Sherlock would have laughed at the expression he got in response had he not been so frustrated about his missing experiment, "I'm going to assume, from that look, that you weren't the one who moved them. Which means Mrs. Hudson probably got rid of them." Sherlock rolled his eyes, flopping against the doorframe "Wonderful. Two experiments ruined in two days, why can't people just leave my things alone?" Sherlock stormed over to the fridge, slamming the door closed before entering the front room and dropping into his chair. "Now what can I do? I have no experiments, no cases, and I finished your Sudoku book," Sherlock smiled sheepishly at John, "you might want to buy another one."

"I only bought that book two days ago," John's eyebrows were raised now, "how could you have possibly finished it without my knowing?" Sherlock shrugged; suddenly John spoke up again, "It was something that happened if Afghanistan."

"What was?" Sherlock questioned, wondering how their conversation could have taken such a turn.

"You asked yesterday what frightened me so much." Sherlock had felt it was better not to bring up John's episode in the lift, "It was something that happened in Afghanistan." He repeated.

"John, you don't need to tell me."

"No, no I want to." John assured him, "I have to get it off my chest or I'm never going to get over it." Sherlock pushed himself into a sitting position, showing that he was listening to his friend. "We were supposed to be fighting," John began, ringing his hands, "Myself and two other soldiers found ourselves trapped. We were stuck for around 5 hours, I believe," John swallowed, "and no-one knew of a way to get out. All around we could hear screaming, banging, gunshots," John glanced up, meeting Sherlock's gaze, "there were people dying, Sherlock, and I couldn't help them."

"That wasn't your fault, John." Sherlock assured him, "Surely, you weren't the only army medic there."

"No," John shook his head, "but the others were busy treating soldiers elsewhere. I could have saved them, Sherlock, if only I could have got out. I-I thought I was going to be trapped down there forever, I know its ridiculous, but - the other two soldiers were trying to find a way out and I just sat there, I thought I was going to die, Sherlock." John mumbled, "I know now that it was a panic attack. I-I don't know why it affected me so much, but it did. It's stupid I know."

"Its not stupid, John." Sherlock assured him. "It was a traumatising experience." Sherlock waited to see if John was going to say anymore before standing, "Tea?" He asked, catching the doctor off guard.

"Oh, um," John nodded, "yes please."

**Thanks for reading. **

**Please, let me know what you think. **

**ibelieveinguardianangels **


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